Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Nigel’s eyes flew open.
Oscar lay to one side of him, snoring softly on top of his sleeping bag. Chris slept as well, positioned under the bay windows in hopes of catching as much of the breeze as possible.
The wind blew strongly from the sea today, and the house creaked and groaned in response, like an old man rousing from his chair. Was that what had woken him up?
The longer he listened, the more some of the creaks sounded like footsteps and not just the house shifting. Judging by the dim light coming through the window, the sky was cloudy, but it wasn’t so dark he’d think ghosts would be active. Maybe he was imagining things.
Either way, it left him unsettled. He sat up, considered switching out of his sleeping trunks into cargo shorts, then dismissed the idea. He was just going to zip upstairs and check; it wouldn’t take five minutes, then he’d go shower.
He slipped on the pair of flipflops he used for walking to the toilet when his bladder inevitably woke him up halfway through his sleep cycle, grabbed a canister of salt just in case, and made for the stairs.
The second floor was silent when he paused on the landing. It had been just the wind after all.
A door creaked open on the floor above.
He froze. He ought to go down and wake Oscar.
But Oscar needed his sleep, and it was more than possible they hadn’t shut the door on the tower room all the way last night. Given the strong breeze, it must be swinging back and forth. He ought to shut it all the way before it woke everyone else up as well.
Feeling much better about the situation, he climbed up to the third floor and saw that the door to the tower storage room indeed stood wide. A creak and the whisper of a drawer opening came from inside the small room.
A chill ran through him, and his feet wanted to freeze onto the landing and not go any further. Gripping the salt canister, he forced himself to move anyway, edging out into the hall until he could see inside the storage room.
A thin beam of sunlight fought through the grime on a small window that was almost blocked by everything crammed inside. The paintings had been carefully moved to one side, and drop cloths pulled away from the furniture stored at the back.
Ethan stood leaning over an old desk, an open briefcase sitting atop it.
“What are you doing?” Nigel asked in confusion.
Ethan jumped and spun, flinging a spray of salt out of a canister in his left hand. Nigel was standing too far back for it to reach him, so it bounced away over the boards.
“Dr. Taylor!” He put a hand to his chest, as if checking his heart was still in place. “You startled me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Nigel walked toward him. “What are you doing up here?”
Ethan put the canister in the briefcase and snapped it shut before Nigel could glimpse anything else that might be in there.
Then he stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
“Ms. Montague noticed there was furniture in here last night, behind the paintings. She asked me to inspect them for any valuable pieces.”
Nigel gave him an incredulous look. “Now?”
“I offered. It gave me a chance to get out of the trailer and stretch my legs.”
That was plausible, but something didn’t feel right. “So you know antiques?”
Ethan gave him a bland smile. “I often accompany Ms. Montague on buying trips. Usually to Europe, but as she already owns everything in this house, it seemed prudent to take a look now, rather than return later.”
“And what did you find?”
If Nigel hadn’t been looking for a moment of hesitation, he might have missed it.
“Nothing of value, I’m afraid. The years of heat and damp have ruined the pieces beyond salvaging.
” Before Nigel could say anything else, Ethan gave him a slight bow.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare lunch. ”
He scurried past, briefcase in hand, and disappeared down the stairs. Nigel watched him go, frowning.
What the hell had that been about?